Besides, even if the problem goes away, the solution is incessantly present, around on every hand, in every byway; and by its very presence, renews the problem to which it is the resolution. Thus the burden of the man half of mankind. Sigh. It ain't easy....

I've read that the "pronblem" to which SRS alludes is not due to a need to urinate, but due to dreaming. It's not necessary for a dream to have sexual content for it to produce male arousal, any dream will do. Makes sense to me. After all, dreaming is a function of the brain, and all women know where the male brain is located.

Gosh all whiskers, Mom! Whatever are the others doing, leaving you to sink slowly, only hours away from the oblivion of sin and degradation? Not even a cheerful "Good Morning! The bluebird of happiness has perched upon your windowsill and left a little gift behind just for you!"

Now hold on a danged minute! Them Irish folks musta just bought those boats last week. Heck, they haven't even finished fittin' 'em out fer military use! I can still see the deep sea fishing outriggers on a couple of 'em and the one in the middle has a big ol' Igloo fish box bolted to the deck. And I know for a fact I saw the top left one ridin' on a salvage barge in Mobile Bay after Hurricane Ivan.

"Night-time in a tropical rainforest, and lonely male Arachnoscelis katydids make their presence known with a burst of intense sound. You won't hear it, though, because they produce the highest-frequency ultrasound of any known insect.

Members of the cricket and grasshopper family are famous for their ability to sing, and most emit chirps at frequencies humans can hear. Some katydids produce ultrasonic chirps by rubbing their forewings together, pushing a scraper on one wing across a series of pegs on the other. This won't do for Arachnoscelis species, though. Fernando Montealegre-Z and Glenn Morris from the University of Toronto in Canada discovered that they chirp at 130 kilohertz, which is too high a frequency to be generated by merely rubbing the wings together.

The researchers collected the katydids from the Colombian rainforest, and as well as measuring their chirps they looked at their wings with an electron microscope. This revealed that as the wings rub against each other, the scraper wedges itself behind one of the pegs and distorts. When released, it springs back into shape, emitting a pulse of ultrasound (Journal of Experimental Biology, vol 209, p 4923).

"By using elastic energy, the animal saves metabolic energy, as the muscles do not contract at an almost impossible speed," says Montealegre-Z."

Speaking of skirmishing, the Legion had a bit of a set-to with one of the cops this evening. Young rookie cop, he was. Seemed like he didn't care for Morris' riding goat, Li'l Trigger, being tied to the usual lamppost outside the Hovel. His Sergeant, Eileen O'Ruin (her real name), told him not to mess with it, but Rookie Boy said that tying a goat to a city lamppost was in violation of Ordinance 34-782(a)1, which reads, "Except in case of riot, rebellion, or insurrection, thou shalt not tie thy goat to a city-owned lamppost."

Rookie Boy charged into the Hovel demanding to know who owned the goat with the saddle that was tied to a city-owned lamppost outside. Everybody looked at Morris, of course, and Morris owned up that it was his goat.

Then he stood up. All six feet, eight and one-sixteenth inches of him. And because NOBODY says bad things about Li'l Trigger, Morris was upset. You could tell by the way he ate his (full) beer mug, burped, and broke the logging chain he uses for a belt.

Rookie Boy demonstrated how quick thinking he was. He said, "Well, that's just one FINE lookin' goat, that's all I have to say!" and left so fast that his shadow took ten minutes to catch up with him.

In the doorway stood Sergeant O'Ruin, laughing fit to die. She walked over, patted her husband on the butt, and said, "Morris, you take Li'l Trigger home -- let him ride, ya hear, 'cause he IS a riding goat. We'll get this rookie shaped up yet. If we ever find him, that is. And dear -- pull your pants up!"

The local police operate a search and rescue submarine on the mighty Portneuf River, so that when steamboat passengers fall overboard their bodies can usually be found and returned mostly intact to their next of kin, if any.

The police are putting a substation in an old store just a couple blocks from the Legion Hovel.

I presume that means the Legion Hovel sits somewhere on the banks of the American Falls Reservoir? I mean, it'd be heard to establish a substation anywhere else in southern Idaho. Even small submarines need thirty or so feet of water to be able to submerge. What good is a submarine as a police surveillance tool if it's right out in the open, floating on the surface of some little creek somewhere?

There's been an interesting development. The police are putting a substation in an old store just a couple blocks from the Legion Hovel.

It's not exactly an old store. It's actually an old, an old, well, an old whorehouse and opium den that was closed during The Great Vice Raids that followed the closing of the Air Base here after WW2. (Couldn't very well close them up DURING the War, could we? I mean, where would the boys 'n' girls have gone for off-duty recreation?) Anyway, the cops are turning it into a full-time, staffed, police substation and the folks in the Legion are quite happy about it.

They've complained over and over to the police about the noisy neighbors. Harassing telephone calls at all hours, awakening the drunks and threatening all sorts of physical violence just because the Glee Club is practicing "Roll Me Over In The Clover." People yelling about the friendly little wrasslin' matches which end in good comradeship and only a few broken bones and rarely any blood to speak of. And the Legion deals with those who might get so excited as to shoot out the lights or something -- everyone have to check ALL of their guns at the door and have had to do so for more'n ten years now, ever since that unfortunate incident where Clean Ike thought that Dirty Ike was wearing his (Clean's) hat and shot it off his (Dirty's) head only to find that he (Clean) was looking at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and the ricchet off the mirror danged near put a bullet hole in the Memorial Portrait Of Naked Nellie, Man's Best Friend And A Pal To Women Too.

Anyway, the Legion has sent a thank-you note to the Chief of Police and has asked that the near-daily processions with torches and pitchforks by the neighbors be stopped because the carrying of nooses is severly disturbing to several of the Legion members, reminding them of Certain Things they'd rather forget.

They were being written at the same time, but I had a couple of screens to lower before I sent it, or they would have arrived simultaneously. No acknowledgement that I could (somehow!) tell the difference between Japanese and Chinese?

"The coin I used in the picture is New Taiwanese Dollar (NTD) 5 dollar coin; it's diameter is about 2.2cm (for coin size comparison, please browse through my collection and you can find a special image that has the USA, Canada, Taiwan, Japan's coin and a rare CPU in the same picture)."

I really like this picture. Why? Because the coin they use for size comparison is totally unfamiliar. I have no idea whether it's half the size of a US dime or as big as a dinner plate. For all the information the photo transmits, that chip may be big enough to use as an anchor for a small boat!

I loved learning about it and wrote my first large program on it -- it was for my wife to balance her checkbook on. It had unusual error messages like "Acccck!! Go get Amos!!!" and "Are you really sure you wrote a check that big?".

"Howdy, who premiered in March 1948 was an all-American boy with red hair, forty-eight freckles (one for each state in the Union), and a permanent smile. Howdy's face symbolized the youthful energy of the new medium and appeared on the NBC color test pattern beginning in 1954.

Smith treated the marionettes as if they were real, and as a result, so did the children of America. Among the many unusual marionettes on the show was Phineas T. Bluster, Doodyville's entrepreneurial mayor. Howdy's grumpy nemesis, Bluster had eyebrows that shot straight up when he was surprised. Bluster's naive, high-school-aged accomplice, was Dilly Dally, who wiggled his ears when he was frustrated. Flub-a-dub was a whimsical character who was a combination of eight animals. In Howdy and Me, Smith notes, "Howdy, Mr. Bluster, Dilly, and the Flub-a-Dub gave the impression that they could cut their strings, saunter off the stage, and do as they pleased." "

Through Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring That was 8900 you heard ring!! Call the herd, and join the Muster Look out, gang, it's P.T. Bluster! Don't be playing with your pud, Or you'll answer to Chief Thunderthud! To sleep and dream, ah, there's the rub, Dreaming of the Flubadub!! While a bad boy jeers and pelts her Indian Princess runs from seltzer! Better far than Rooty Kazooty And Polka Dotty, is Howdah Duty!!